FAFHRD off
by Late to the Party
Summary: Far past his bedtime, Çhärňamȇ has a meeting in a dreary place full of dead people, only one of them is still moving and somehow expects him not to know what she is while talking down to him as though he were some illiterate peasant. So be it. Traipsing around Faerun like witless cattle occasionally has its advantages. Part V of the 'Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda' Series. AU one-shot.


_For Nimloth of Thay._

**A/N As per usual, I don't own any of the characters within this piece except for Charname - who in this piece, may actually own his attitude. Enjoy!**

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"I am Bodhi and I greet you warmly."

More words. Many more words. Something about 'pretence', wanting gold – hadn't nine hundred been considered a 'small fortune' by anyone's standards in Nashkel? Fifteen thousand could have bought the entire town and then some, Çhärňamȇ supposed; how much was Nashkel's mine worth? Still talking… Irenicus… artistic killing…

"Choose your allegiance. The masters you serve or the Mistress that will let you destroy them."

"I wasn't listening to a word you said." Çhärňamȇ admitted glibly. Bodhi hissed. Ignoring her interruption, he continued as if conversing over the weather. "I had a recollection; a figure… someone who resembled you and your Valen. I remember there was a terrible battle below the streets. Many dead. Such a strange place. Now what, I ask myself, were your pets doing there? How easily you speak names known to me without answers… and I wonder… could it be that you know because you were there?"

As Bodhi opened her mouth, Çhärňamȇ cut in brightly. "Do you see my armour?" Drawing one finger along the onyx hued scales that sheathed him head to toe, he held up and rotated his hand. "Quite stylish, I think. I just returned from Umar Hills. But you already knew that, did you not? That I was gone. Yes, of course you did. But did you know what I was doing there? Well, shall we put it that Thaxll'ssillvia was most reluctant to part with her scales but needs must, as they say."

Çhärňamȇ's eyes locked onto Bodhi's. "You tire of talking? You cannot wait too long. 'Mistress'. Funny thing about that. I serve no one. Not the Shadow Thieves, not you, and certainly not the creepy voice that keeps me awake at night. Which reminds me, look at the time. It's only a couple of bells until the dawn now, isn't it? No no, you may have tired of speaking but I have yet to say my piece. So let's cut to the chase, shall we?

"Your pets drain the blood of others. You're all about the night. You're constantly talking down to me. Riddle you this: what be ye? Could it be… an illithid?"

Bodhi's brow bunched up.

"No? How about… a beholder?"

She hissed in vexation.

"Not warm am I? You're not – so that must make you a cold blood. A lizard or Yuan-ti! All the hissing! There, I am so glad we finally got that out the way. You are a Yuan-ti, and you're offering me access to a tomb because you're a necromancer and it's cool down there, out of the sunshine.

"Speaking of tombs and sunshine… allow me to present you with a gift, 'Mistress'. Something I retrieved from Umar Hills, a little memento. May I?" All smiles and bright eyed, Çhärňamȇ carefully held up his palms and then reached into the pouch tucked beneath his neckline. "I offer you this tribute, 'Mistress'."

Warm in his enclosed hand, the hard stones burst the night asunder as the sunlight streamed from them. But that wasn't enough for Çhärňamȇ, oh no; for once, he decided he would humour that creepy voice who had long since given up on daggers of bone and instead had started rambling about torrents of blood, learning, and didn't like his suggestion of naming a metaphorical ship 'persistence' for some strange reason. A ship to sail the oceans of blood, persisting in his studies – why, it all fit so well, so beautifully. And the very best part of learning was discovering he could heal by reaching deep inside himself and tugging on this strange glowing substance inside of himself. That same healing he poured into the gems in a torrent, as great a torrent as that vision of blood from way back when.

There was a shriek.

"Oh dear." Çhärňamȇ squinted, reaching over the pair of sun gems of Amaunator. "How silly of me. I had forgotten that healing harms the undead… I thought maybe these might brighten up your little crypt. I guess my shall-not-learn will be the death of you." Shaking his head, he tucked away the sun gems and frowned; the black scales from Thaxll'ssillvia were aglow from beneath the lining, almost like the first rays of the dawn cresting over the horizon. "Well, how'd I do, creepy voice? Marks out of ten? Does it count as murder if a vampire's already dead?"

Was that resentment or sullenness he felt from deep within? Dear oh dear, he would simply have to try that much harder. Glancing around, he sighed. It was probably about time to head back; maybe he'd even be in time to share breakfast with that surly old dwarf. 'Breakfast' being ale, of course. Those sun gems would surely come in handy the next time he was in a crypt, sewer or some other dark place. Why, if he ever found himself underground, they would be perfect. Moving them about was getting tiresome though, so perhaps he should have that smith fashion them into lenses for him. Sun lenses: then his eyes could glow too. Now where had he seen that before? Golden shining eyes… Maybe being up so late was bad for him: his sense of humour certainly fell off the proverbial roof. Speaking of roofs… should he venture down those creepy stairs and see what Bodhi had within her little hold? What was that saying? 'Confirm the kill'. Rummaging through his neckline, he withdrew the sun gems again, stepped through the dust mound and shoved his boot against the door. It was probably trapped, Çhärňamȇ decided, gingerly stepping over where the pressure plate or trip wire would have been.

This little detour had best be worth it, but hopefully, the Shadow Thieves would stop whining about dying and being abducted in the night and actually get that ship ready for him. There really was nothing stopping them now, was there?

…And once he got back, they were going to pay for every second they held him and Imoen apart, for the trek to Umar Hills, and most of all, for daring to ask for coin instead of springing them out of Irenicus' clutches. "FAFHRD" indeed. Oh, he would FAFHRD them. After everything Immy had done for their northern kin… one thing at a time. First the coffins, then the ship, then the guild halls. Maybe he'd take a leaf out of Edwin's book. Burn everything. Burn all of them. 'Terror of the Sword Coast'? Saving cows from Xvarts, finding dead farmers' sons from ankheg nests, bargaining for little boys' bodies back from Umberlee's priestesses; running out doppelgängers from the Seven Suns, flinching Halruaan skyship pieces… stealing gnomish telescopes… watching Eldoth slip and drown in pond scum. Well, that last one was pretty terrible. But terror? None of them knew terror. Terrorise and strategically strike… artistic killing… hadn't Bodhi been paying attention at all? Dear dead brother Sarevok was the one who favoured wholesale slaughter, but precision? Imoen was all about precision. The time for precision was over.

No one hurt Imoen. Not Edwin, not Eldoth, not Sarevok, not Irenicus, no one. And that applied to indirect hurting too. How long would it be until Yoshimo showed his true colours too? Shadow Thief mook or Irenicus' lackey? Well, it didn't matter as long as he got Imoen back.

And as for Irenicus? He could FAFHRD too. They could all just FAFHRD off.


End file.
